Bloody Mildred.
April 15, 2010
“Oh dear God…” the Captain gasped, as the realization of what had happened hit him with the utmost force.
Mildred must have found the letter. The letter he’d written to her in the name of Stratton just days ago when that overwhelming rage had taken over his body and possessed his spirits. He’d known of Mildred’s emotional instability and wildly unpredictable temperament. He knew that once she found the letter supposedly written by Stratton Brownsmith informing her of his change of heart and his intentions to pursue Catherine that she would retaliate.
He had not given it to her, of course. He’d decided against it once his head had cooled by morning, and he was capable of thinking more rationally about the double affair. But she must have found it, nonetheless, in his chiffonier. His repulsive plan had managed to work itself out effortlessly, and now he was overcome with crippling guilt. It occurred to him most regretfully that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t deserve Catherine after all and that it ought, in fact, be he and not Brownsmith lying back there, struggling to take in his last breath of air.
Catherine appeared abruptly at his side with the doctor. “We have just received word from the King’s men,” she said. “They found Mildred in the forest just moments ago, bloodied and with a note from Stratton in her cloak. It appears she killed Stratton and then took her own life in the woods with his bayonet.”
Catherine’s words curdled what little fortitude remained within the Captain. “Oh, forgive me for what I have done…” he muttered under his breath. It was only he and Catherine now—just as he had wished. But it felt nothing like he’d imagined, just nights ago, when he’d been overcome with jealousy and despair. There was only one thing left for him to do now…
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